


hello

by Raineywrites



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Boys In Love, DNF, Declarations Of Love, Falling In Love, First Love, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, True Love, dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29406072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raineywrites/pseuds/Raineywrites
Summary: his story needs to be told. that's what clay thought at least. this boy was too perfect to get his story told. maybe people would love it, maybe people would get bored. he didn't care. The boy he loved deserved to be remembered.(this is all in good fun okay. i just had an idea and this is arguably some of my best work. please read this and leave kudos? maybe even comment. i would like feed back on this work thank you!!_ I'm sorry if this story becomes confusing. just know this is dream telling stories about George so his memories are not in order)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 1





	1. farewell

The rain was nice, the way it hit the ground while the trees moved with each drop that poured down from the sky. The feeling in his chest as he screamed out what he had been holding onto for years. The fears that had buried themselves deep in his chest, the rut he had been in. He felt stuck, like nothing would change unless he changed. Why would he change? He was happy with himself; that’s what he told himself. His life was good, he was successful and had great friends. He had fans adored him and worshiped the air he breathed. 

What no one knew was how much he wanted to become the air. He wants to flow and exist. Just exist. Be nothing more than particles sustaining life that walked this earth. The way his skin itched to be changed at times, or the way he would lay on the grass to pretend like he was just another piece of the earth. He wanted to fade away at times. Be the air that made the trees move on a cloudy Sunday morning, right when the air still smelled fresh, it felt new with the fog that danced around every living thing. He wanted to redefine who was. He wanted to surrender himself to be one with nature. Return to the very earth he came from. 

He didn’t want to die. He never wanted to, there were times where he had thoughts but never followed through. He loved living, living life for those who couldn’t. When he’d laugh at three and with his friends he’d think about all the people who would be cursing god, if there was a god. Wishing they were anyone else. He always believed humans were born into the story’s they must tell. And some stories weren’t like the others. They were raw and heart breaking, leave you wondering why someone would be born just to hurt. Other times he witnesses an amazing blossoming story, one that would swallow him whole. 

There was this one story. One that he could never shake from his head. One that felt like it was calling to him, one that seemed to be written in his bones. It wasn’t his story. No. That would make it all too easy. To be content with your own story takes time. Time to heal, time to retell it to yourself. Time to think if this is where you wanted the story to go. It took one conversation to be engulfed in a story. One memory from someone’s childhood to make you so absolutely in hopeless, blinding, engaging love with another story. 

His turning page, the reason he kept waking up. He was in this one person's story and it made him question everything he thought he knew. All it took was one smile, one syllable. One small word. He didn’t want to be surrendered to nature anymore. He surrendered to him. The words he spoke. To the lines that he wrote with every twitch of an eye. Every anxious movement. He had waited a million years for this one moment. Before he even knew it.

He existed to be in his story. 

He existed to worship the air they breathed. He wanted to be the air that gave them life. 

If he had only felt his touch sooner, if hadn’t been so scared. If had just become the air, if he had told him how he wished to keep being in his story. How he didn’t want his story to end. 

To call it love was to make it small. What he had with this one beautiful story was huge. Bigger beyond comprehension. Love is a four letter word too small to describe how it felt to be his. To know that this boy, this beautiful, amazing, breathtaking boy wanted to know his story. To know that they were tethered in their souls. Tethered to tell each other’s story to the world. 

Now it was just him, him telling two stories at once. Telling the story of the boy he was engulfed by. The boy who swept him off his feet and turned him into air. To never let anyone forget that story. He would keep writing it for him. How could he not. 

Stepping back from the edge, he wasn’t going to fall into the water below. He was simply yelling out everything he had ever thought. About himself, about his woes. About the boy, the privilege he had to be his. Telling the air about how the boy had the nicest smile and the most beautiful eyes. 

How much he missed him.

How his story was what he lived for, what he was waiting for. Now the boy was nothing but words. Just words. Every kiss they shared redefined the way he saw life, every touch had been like fire. Scared the boy would burn them both. He did, he does. He would never stop burning him. It would be forever he’d have this story burning inside him while he lived his life. While he continued to tell the story of his first love. If he could even say love. It was so much more than love. 

Smiling as he thanked the air for listening. Carrying his words. Carrying the boys story. Staring up into the dark cloudy sky as he let the rain wash him. Wash away all the fears and hurt he had been clinging on to. As it washed away these bad emotions, he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

These made him so very human. The hurt he endured to be warmed by the touch of the other, the way he would never see him again. This all made him human, it remained different. Grass that lay in the ground didn’t experience this Enigma of emotions, the air didn’t carry the story like this. He was so different from the elements of the earth he used too long to turn into. Now he was human, his love made him human. That one story made him human.

The sounds of his boots against the wet ground as he touched each tree was he passed. Heading back to his car, soaking wet. Even in all the pain he still smiled. He still loved, he still hurt, he still wanted nothing more than to have that one person back. Maybe he would have to wait another million years to ever be reunited with his first. The story he was hopelessly, blinded, and forever in love with.

One day, one day he would see him again. And when he did he would feel it in his bones again. He would feel the fire growing again. 

Until then. He told his story alongside the story of the boy.


	2. devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clay meetings Georges family. nine months and the first time he had stepped over the barrier George had built. George let him in.

The smile was intoxicating. Looking up from his computer, looking over the screen to see his dark eyes staring back. He couldn’t help but laugh. What else do you do when you're nervous? Be confident? No. With this boy he was never confident. 

Feeling the gaze of the other when he looked at the screen again. Typing a few words. It was barely a whisper, the laptop slowly closed on his hands. His name was spoken as the boy did so. Sitting with his legs extended on the couch. At the end of them was him. The weight of him crawling over his legs, touching him.

“Clay.” 

He would pay to hear him say his name over and over. Captivated by the way he spoke. A foggy as cold October Sunday. a perfect day to just sleep away. Of course clay always had better plans. No work to really be done. All his boy wanted was attention. 

“Claayy.” He sang now. Teasing almost. He knew that clay needed to respond to some emails. He also knew that clay would drop everything for him.

Sliding the technology off his lap. Leaving it on the floor next to the couch. His phone was sitting on the coffee table right next to the other boy's phone. Face down, no distractions. Just them.

“Yes?” Asking softly while a smile grew. “Getting comfortable?” 

“Very.” 

Clay watched him making himself comfortable. Invading his personal space. He wouldn’t have anyone else invade his space. All he did was lift Clay's hand to kiss it and clay left warmth spread through his body again. Bringing a hand up to caress the soft skin, god was this boy so beautiful. 

Almost as soon as he did so, he brought his other hand to his side. Attacking him to get a laugh out of him. Music to his ears. The boy desperately tried to grab the hands to stop him. Thrashing around in a fit of laughter. Gasping for air. Having the time of his life. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” The brunette almost screamed. “Please. Stop!” 

Love. That little word again. The only thing close enough to what he felt for him. The curve of his smile made Clay feel like he was different yet again. He gave in. Stopping the attack on his boyfriend. Collapsing on top of him. Feeling safe as the other brought up his hands to play on the shaggy ness of hair.

“Hey George?” 

Sitting up quickly as he heard the woman’s voice. She was aware of their relationship. Clay was in England to meet his parents. A little over nine months and going strong. He still felt nervous and shy, like his parents didn’t like him even though George’s parents adored him. 

George didn’t answer his mom. He just held clay's hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. Looking over as his mother was rambling about something that wouldn’t matter in ten minutes. 

“Yeah I’ll do it.” 

He watched the way he moved as he spoke. Watching how with his free hand he would rub his thumbnail over the finger pad on his middle finger. Taking in how he would look just a little annoyed as she was asking him to do chores, however that was how all mothers were. they'd nag because they care, kids rolled their eyes and didn't understand just yet.

The mother kissed his head. A form of affection, something George was used to. Clay thought about how long it took for George to feel comfortable in showing affection and expressing his emotion. A small wave to George’s mother as she retreated back to whatever she was up to. 

“Do you.” George stopped his sentence as he leaned forward. “Want to fold laundry with me?” 

“Oh I thought you’d never ask.” 

A giggling mess. Following him down the hallway to the laundry room. The padding of their footsteps filled the house, it was quite quiet.

The mundane things, the everyday activities. Things that should be boring. Folding laundry at nine in the morning shouldn't be as exciting as it was. It was difficult for it not to be. The way that George just made everything better. Making every little part of life burst with light and love. 

Holding up a shirt. Far too big to be George’s small frame, clay smiled a bit. “You still have this.” 

Looking up from the pair of sweatpants he was holding, he shrugged. Why wouldn’t he still have it. It held a lot of value.

“Yeah, it was the first shirt you ever sent me of yours.” He smiled and took it from the others hands. “Sometimes I think it still smells like you.” 

“Does it?” 

Laughing a bit. Shaking his head. “No. Of course not, it smells like clean sheets and flowers. Mums buys all the stuff for the washing.” 

“Better than me I bet.” 

Shaking his head. George leaned forward, taking a dramatic and long sniff. Acting like he was thinking about it. 

“No, I’d still rather you than the washing.” 

Clay laughed a little before taking the shirt from him. Quickly taking off the sweater he had on, replacing it with the shirt George held. 

“What are you doing?” He spoke between laughs. “Stop it.” 

“Well I have to make it smell like me again.” Clay just smiled. “Only a few more days before I have to go back.” 

George deflated a bit. “Yeah.” 

Pushing the laundry to the side. Ignoring the fact they had actually gotten through half the pile. They were having too much fun, forgetting this wasn’t all permanent yet. Nine months of being together, only having met in person four times. Unlike George, clay was painfully in tune with his emotions. Being reminded it was ending, it hurt. 

Just soft kisses, nothing more. They were soft, holding George’s face in his hands. Giving him something he could think about when he got lonely. Trying to cherish the rest of the time they got to spend together. 

Nothing more happened, Clay kissed his boyfriend a few times. Sharing the soft exchange before they laid in bed together, holding onto George. Taking him in again. Pulling the other against him while they just soaked in the time they had. Kissing his shoulder while wrapping his arm around the other mid section. Spooning him. Listening to the others soft breathing, they sounded like sweet words that made him want to stay. He just wanted to stay. Stay in his story, stay written into each other’s bones. Together. 

“George.” 

“Yeah?” He shifted slightly to look behind him. His heart fluttered just a little as he made eye contact. No one had ever looked at him the way clay had. “What?” 

“Nothing.” His bottom lip sucked in just slightly as anxiety washed over him. 

“What is it?” 

Sitting up again. George looked a little concerned. Nine months, more than enough to learn about clay. Pick up on his anxious habits, his mood changed. The small things that would give off how he felt. Sometimes they were small, other times they were just him completely shutting down. 

“It’s stupid.” 

“Nothing is stupid if it comes to your feelings. You know that.” Looking down at him. Lifting a hand to his face, giving a loving touch. “You can talk to me.” 

“Don’t give up on me.” 

A fear, vulnerability. His anxiety, on display for the other to judge. Watching his face. Trying to figure out what he was feeling. He could never tell. Nine months had been a long time, almost a year. He knew George would say I love you without saying the words out loud. Clay had refrained from saying it for so long. He would say it jokingly during streams and videos. But never in seriousness. He didn’t want to scare him again. 

“Why would I do that?” He asked not expecting an answer. Before clay could, George just spoke more. “We’ve been together for so long. If I was going to give up on you I would have done it so much sooner. I wouldn’t want to, could you imagine just how boring life would be without you in it? I would hate it. I need you just as much as you need me. I know it is the worst that we can’t be together all the time. But one day we will.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes.” He answered before leaning to kiss his forehead. “I just feel like you came so unannounced into my life, but somehow that was the best part. I uh.” Looking away for a second. “I think I love you.”

Feeling his chest collapse in the best way. Feeling the way all his anxiety was stripping itself from his soul, just for a second. He didn’t know such a small sentence could make him feel so special, so seen. A memory he would store away, keep safe. Another page of his story written out. 

“Say something.”

The boy begged. Clay's anxieties left him for a second but George weighed heavy. Feeling his world crashing down if clay responded in a way he wasn’t expecting. It was painful for him to just stare into his pale green eyes while he waited for a response. 

“I think I love you.” 

Copying the words the other spoke. Not wanting to scare him. He didn’t want to overwhelm him. Hearing ‘I love you’ didn’t measure the love someone held for you. Three little words didn’t compare to the things they did for each other. For what they felt for each other. 

Running a hand up to George’s cheek, kissing him again. He felt like it was right. At this moment that’s what it needed. 

Pulling back, seeing the dazed look in George’s eyes. He probably didn’t believe what was happening. As if nine months didn’t equal love. 

“But.” He started, pressing his forehead to the others. “I don’t think love describes what I feel. It’s a convenient four letter word. You just make everyday better.” 

“Do I?” 

“Mhm.” Kissing his cheek before pulling him down to the bed. “Every single day, I wake up and remember that I get to be in your life, your story. I just can't comprehend it.” 

Tucking his head away into the curve of his neck. Soaking in his warmth. “You and your stories. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“No I don’t.”

This lazy October Sunday. Quite and full of emotion, the two of them taking a step they were both scared of. Staying in bed as long as they need. The laundry could wait. George admitted his feelings in full, out in the open and of course clay responded. Returning the feelings. He loved George with every part of him. He loved him with everything he had. While George loved him the same. 

If clay could, he would give George the air from his lungs. He would do anything for him. Build him up until he reaches the sky. Staying by his side, encouraging him to achieve any and all dreams he had. Loving George was amazing, full of amazing moments. He was a force to be wrecked with. Given the privilege to love him. Sometimes he felt like George was his raging ocean he didn’t know how to navigate. Everyone would drown in the ocean, try to kick and scream until the water filled up their lungs and they just let go. However if George wanted, he could grab your hand and lead you to safety. Showing you his safe haven in the wreckage. 

Sitting on the island in the mess of an ocean, clay was safe. He was given the safe passage. 

Closing the door softly as he stepped out of the room, leaving the boy curled up in the sheets. It had been a few hours. As much as he loved holding him, clay was hungry. Two weeks he had been here. Getting to know George’s family and friends from town. 

“Are you two okay?” Looking up as he stepped in the kitchen. Seeing George’s mum closing the fridge. “Do I need to be worried?” 

He shook his head. “No no. We’re great.” 

“You’ve been awfully quiet all day.” 

“I leave in two days.” He shrugged a little. “Just wanted to hold him for a bit. I won’t be able to again for a while.” 

Thinking about it hurt him. He didn’t want to leave George, they were tethered to each other. Being farther away from him just hurt, made him feel like he wasn’t whole. Stripping him away from the boy who made him complete left him him in shambles every time. He never knew how to fully deal with it. How do you cope with having your other half missing.

“Sorry.” Bringing a hand up to wipe under his eye. 

“Don’t be.” She smiled a little. “It’s good you don’t want to leave him. Makes your time together more special.” 

Clay nodded a little. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” 

“George says it happens every time you have to leave him.” 

“He’s told you that?”

She shrugged, then nodded. “He talks to me about a lot of stuff. I think it would be easier if you took him back with you one day.” 

“Just take him with me? I don’t think I can do that. The American government would say a few things about that.” 

He watched her just hum. Heading back to the kettle as a small light turned off, showing the water was ready. She didn’t even ask, she just placed two mugs on the counter. Making both her and clay a cup. Nodding towards the table, telling the boy to go sit. So he did, she placed a cup in front of him. 

He ran his finger up the side of the cup. There was a seam, it had the slightest bump. He liked the way it felt. Noticing the painting on the side of it. 

“This is pretty.” 

The woman across from him smiled. “You think so? George did it.” 

“Really?” 

“Yep. When he was fifteen. Very artistic boy, I do pottery. I’d bring him with me sometimes to the studio and he would help me paint them.” 

Another thing for the story. Remembering it as it wrote itself in. Something to question George about later. He didn’t know George did anything artistic. George seemed like a very technical person. Coding and minecraft described George pretty well, on the surface. No one knew George’s story like clay did. They never would. 

It was nice talking to her. Just talking, getting to know his boyfriend's mum. She was very kind and loving, so patient with George. The way she spoke made him feel safe. Clay wanted to know her story, not her life story. Not all the things she’s gone through to get here. The small things. The story that came with all the quiet times. It was a little odd, he wanted to compare George’s story to his mums. See just how similar they actually are. 

“Clay?” George mumbled as he opened the door. Pulling on a hoodie as he left the room. 

“Yes love?” 

Scrunching his nose at the word. “You sound like mum.” 

In response, the mum shrugged a bit. “I’m very influential.” 

“Indeed.” Clay agreed as George moved his arm before curling up in his lap. “Someone’s still sleepy.” 

“Very. I only woke up because it was cold.” 

With that, she picked up the empty mugs. Sitting them in the sink before kissing George’s head again. Muttering words about making sure he eats before they go back to bed. It was just about seven in the evening. There were left overs on the fridge for the couple. 

Clay made sure they ate before they disappeared to George’s room again. Just cuddling the night away while they watched a show on George’s laptop. 

Knowing there would be so many messages and notifications when they finally retrieved their phones. Both didn’t care. They just enjoyed each other’s presence.


End file.
